


Survival

by Yuni30



Series: Nymph Hugs [19]
Category: Ni No Kuni: Wrath of the White Witch (Video Game)
Genre: Belonging, Broken Promises, Crimes & Criminals, Darkness, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Heartbreak, Nightmares, Past Lives, Promises, Second Chances, Self-Worth, Suicidal Thoughts, Team Bonding, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, Where I Belong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 14:56:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15643083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuni30/pseuds/Yuni30
Summary: Just having friends by your side can help cut through the darkest times.





	Survival

**Author's Note:**

> Does contain slight spoilers. As usual, I highly recommend either finishing the game or getting past the Hamelin arc.

"Get off," a boat captain shouted as he pushed a young man off. "We're done with you, boy," he snarled, glaring at the deckhand in an orange shirt standing at the docks of Castaway Cove. For a moment, he stared back with wide disbelieving eyes. They were throwing him off. Then it clicked- he hadn't done his share. He hadn't pulled his weight, despite the long hours of work. He glared back at the captain who now extended his green coat towards him. He snatched it irritably.

He would have to find a way to survive, now. He earned _some_ funds, just barely enough for a few nights' stays at a local inn. He looked around at the small seaside community and back down at his attire- specifically his pellet gun. Something told him they wouldn't react well to the site of a firearm. He quickly threw on his coat, hiding the weapon from sight.

He looked around once more. His eyes darted from person to person. Having shelter was all well and good, but he didn't have enough to purchase food. He took a few deep breaths as he began to walk along the docks. His attire had been modified since he left home. He traded in his fancy clothes for meager sailing ones with a few adjustments. It wouldn't matter anyway.

He had begun to neglect his health quite a bit, too. His hair had always tried its best to rebel against the oils they used to tame it. It now seized its opportunity, curling at the ends first then seemingly knotting and tangling itself more and more as the days went. He even began to feel small hairs form on his chin- which, of course, he often pondered removing.

As he strode closer to the inn, he stopped for a moment. Was shelter _really_ more important than food? Would it matter where he starved to death? He shook his head and turned around to find a vendor…

~*~*~

He was starving. He spent all of his money. It had been weeks since he was kicked off the boat. He cursed the ship captain for all that he was worth. He had been looking for more work, but no such luck. He tried begging. That put quite a hole in his ego, but he didn't care. Food was food and he needed it. He felt weak and his body shivered as his legs wobbled like a newborn animal's, but he kept moving, eventually making it to Al Mamoon, the desert capital of the Southern Summerlands.

"Get a job, you lowlife," one of the passerby called out to him as he sat in the shade with his hands held out, cupped. He looked down, frowning at his attire. His jacket and the shirt and pants underneath were filthy and riddled with holes. They hung off of him like a giant sheet. This was it. This was all he had- these rags and his precious pellet gun. No one would hire him- he looked like he had no money, intelligence, or integrity to speak of.

How had it come to this? How had he fallen to this point? He was a prince, royalty! Didn't these people know-? He shook his head again. Of course, they wouldn't. They shouldn't- that was the point. This entire journey was supposed to be so he could figure himself out _without_ that pesky title hanging over his head! It was why he bothered to call himself by a different name, after all. This starvation, this misery, was the price he paid for not thinking his next moves through. What a disaster.

He looked at the back of the man who had just berated him. He wore decent clothes. Perhaps he had money…? He needed that. He needed funds. He needed to eat! He got up from his spot and watched him closely. If he was going to be treated as a lowlife, he might as well act like one. If it meant survival, there was no limit to his actions. Perhaps living in a giant city had its pros. He could tail him and, if he was successful, take whatever he could find. He followed him closely. He held his breath as he brushed past him, his hand reaching for a pocket. Coins- a coin purse. As he grabbed it, he quickly slipped his hand back into his own.

"Hey," the man shouted. He froze and for a moment wondered if he had been caught.

He turned around to see he wasn't checking his clothes and feigned an apologetic smirk. "Sorry, I guess I misjudged the distance," he fibbed. He turned and walked away. He raised the hand that had just lifted a couple guilders off of the unwitting prey and waved behind him. "Goodbye."

He got really good at that. William had taught him well about the underground, so he applied what tricks he knew to his craft. When he was caught, he'd somehow coolly evade. Other times, he'd gleefully accept being sent to prison. Free meals often accompanied it, even if they weren't the best quality. That, and at least he had a roof to sleep under.

Other times, he slept in the streets against the walls of alleyways. He hardly got any rest, however. Discomfort and rattled nerves of the possibility of being caught or killed in his sleep kept him awake. He dared not see what became of him, either. He didn't always eat well, but his body had grown accustomed to a low intake of food. He figured he had to look like hell- no point confirming it.

What he did know is that all of his years of stray hobbies regarding his hands had paid off. He was quick and slight with them. Sneaking into the workshops for odd bits of tinkering? Those aided his smooth, slick movements that so handily maneuvered him away from danger. He even made more and more use of his pickpocketing gun. If people couldn't identify you, they couldn't catch you.

He even found himself 'friends' in the dark underbelly of the city. He began to wonder if this was the life for him. Sometimes, stealing was just fun. Other times, it was for survival's sake. What was the point of going home where he would just let people down- his father, his brother?

Then again… his father was dead, and his brother was doing just fine without him. As he drank down a glass of ale and looked at his fellow thieving swine cheering for some heist they managed to pull off, he began to think he belonged there. It wasn't a life of luxury like he had grown up in, but he couldn't possibly let anyone down in a dump like this.

He was a thief, a low life, a criminal… a failure. This was it. He belonged with the rest of them.

He holed himself up in a room just above the seedy bar he stayed at. As he fell asleep the recurring thought of one day returning home came to him. What would his dear brother say? He had made a promise to come back at the very first sign of trouble…

He couldn't go back, not in his condition… He rolled over. It was probably best to let him think he was dead. He'd only disappoint him.

As he slept, a shadow loomed over his lanky form. It slowly approached his bed and then darted through him, the shadows snatching at his body. A cold chill washed over him and, in an instant, the very instant he shot up from the bed in terror, it was gone. His body was heavy, but his chest felt lighter. He gripped where his heart was, the horror stories he had heard on the streets of people losing themselves flooding his memory. It still beat soundly. He shook his head and laid back down. Perhaps he was just dreaming. He tried to ignore the instincts that told him otherwise.

Then, he felt it. He rested his hand over his heart again just to be sure. It sounded… hollower. Something was missing. Something- something had been taken from him. He sat up again and patted himself down, abandoning all hope of sleep. Something had been stolen and he'd find it. He had to. He had this uncontrollable urge to.

With a pale, drained face, he got up and left his room, left the bar behind him. To the streets again he roamed…

~*~*~

He found himself crawling on his hands and knees in an alleyway. His consciousness was back. He looked down in his hand and moaned in slight discomfort and disappointment. This wasn't what he needed either! Damn it! What was he looking for?! Why had he gone out of his way to steal yet another useless thing?

He kept going in and out. It always started when he saw something of value. Before he knew it, he would be in a jail cell or in an alleyway, tired and breathless. The worst cases were when he found himself beat up on the ground, bleeding. At some point, he thought he would die. The men from the bar, the people he thought he could count on that he believed he belonged with had turned on him. He had become a liability.

He found himself back where he started, alone and desperate. He was stealing whatever he wanted, whatever he needed. It didn't matter which. As soon as the words, "I need…," or, "I want…," crossed his mind, his body was already going into action. He could barely process any long-range plans without nearly throwing himself into something crazy on a whim.

It was getting worse. It was getting so much worse. Hamelin, his home, his kingdom had started to fall to ruin according to people in Castaway Cove. Something was dreadfully wrong. Something had happened to his brother. He had to return home. He had to go home. He had to help.

It was what now drove him to keep his head level. There were times his fingers strayed from his goal and he cursed himself for it. It was too much, and he began to consider the reality that he wouldn't make it. He wondered if he should even try.

Even he knew in his heartbroken riddled sense of reality that he wouldn't be much use. What had happened to him to make him so? Why was he cursed like this? Was it the Dark Djinn's doing?

A part of him yearned for peace, for the suffering to end. He found himself lying awake in the dirtiest alleys, starving after waking up from terrible dreams. He found himself resenting his own stupid decisions. He hated his lack of usefulness, how no one would ever need such a horrid wretch. He wanted it to end.

He was so tired for so long. He stole unfinished food from people, he ate what he could find and damned the risks. He didn't care if he got sick. He didn't care if he died. He had been missing for so long that even his own brother didn't know if he was alive or dead. Why would he care? He had everything he didn't. He was a sage! He was a ruler! He had no time to worry for someone as decrepit as him. So why should he care if a sandwich had a possibly disease-ridden bite out of it? He wasn't going to go back.

Something in him stirred again to go back. It started by seeing two kids and what looked like a fairy heading out of Al Mamoon one day. He swore he had seen them somewhere before. Yes, he had! They were there when he made that promise to his brother! The gears in his head whirred to life, especially at the sight of the cauldron. Cauldrons had genies and if that redhead was who he thought he was- he himself needed to get his attention. He could use a cauldron.

And like that, his body moved into motion, shutting down all other rationales except the act of nabbing a giant pot! From that point on, in the very back of his mind, he knew he had to be selective with his thoughts. He had to push to get them to get _him_ back to Hamelin. All it took was careful planning and perhaps bribing a guard for information… Damn it!

He had slipped again. His intent was to _bargain_ with them to get them to let him go with them, but now he seemed to be arguing with the ship captain himself. He wasn't budging either. Why the hell did he jump the gun? He thought of the picture of his brother he had stolen from the boy wizard when he asked about his reasoning. When he prodded further, he knew he risked exposing his identity, not that anyone would believe him in his sorry state. He gave what he could, urgently, desperately begging the captain to take him to Hamelin. He wasn't listening. He felt his consciousness begin to fade, as usual, the darkness started to cloud his memory. It had become frighteningly routine. He wondered where he was going to end up this time.

But something was different… His heart ached. Everything was getting dark, but he was still very much awake. The pain was increasing. He couldn't control himself. He couldn't control his body! He wanted to scream, to try to alert them- even if it seemed like they were miles away, now- but he couldn't bring himself to. It was like he had been hijacked. He felt like he couldn't breathe. His head was pounding. His vision blurred as he gripped his head. Darkness, nothing but thick, viscous darkness. He was drowning.

He… he felt like he was dying. This was the end… He prayed it was the end. Despite his regret of breaking his promise to his brother, he felt it was a fitting death for someone that had fallen so far.

Then… Those kids! They were back? Why? What did they want from him? Why did they pursue him? …Why was he fighting them? They had just saved his life! Was it because he couldn't get on the boat? Was it because they stood a chance of preventing him from going home to fix things? Why _did_ they try to save him?! He would have broken his promise but… he wouldn't be obliged to keep it either. It was so tempting just to give in…

They had left again. He sighed and looked down at the docks. Something was so familiar about those three. He felt so tired. He considered leaving… but then…

He didn't even remember what he said to the boy. He cast some sort of spell- was that Give Heart he drew? Then, the pain stopped. All of it… just stopped. He could finally think. The dark shadows he often saw in the corners of his vision vanished. It felt like something switched back on- something long broken and irreparable. And what he thought was uncontrollable want- his goal to return home- was still there. It was the one constant thing in his mind that was _real_ to him. It kept him sane, so he clung to it desperately.

When they asked about the picture, rather urgently so, he saw an opportunity. He could bargain. Dusty skills in his mind were put back into play. They were just kids, so this would be simple as could be for a con like him. Every fact- yes even the mention of his Great Sage of a brother- could be used to get him home. In fact, he made that his selling point, which they bought of course. He hardly believed them that they were going to face the Dark Djinn, but whatever. Home was home, and he was heading to it.

He might as well make himself useful if he was going to join them. With his mind back to full functionality, he offered what he could in return for allowing him on the journey. They had pulled him out of the darkness he had spent years suffering and slogging through, grasping at whatever strand of hope he could find. Now they were helping him get back to where he was long overdue. Where he was needed.

He owed them more than he could give.

~*~*~

What had he signed up for? No really! What the hell did he sign up for?! Sometimes he wondered if it was even worth it…

Of all the things he had gone through, going into the maw of a giant fairy godmother just to bring more fairies into the world was definitely the strangest! Never again would he do so, either.

The horrible thoughts that came to mind at first mention were all but clean. Fortunately, it wasn't like that and fortunately, he wouldn't have to go through with it again any time soon.

It was just one more step- one event closer to home, to the empire that so desperately needed his help. If it weren't for those three- the fairy included- he would have stayed out of it. He would have gone back to the Fairygrounds to get a drink or buy some supplies. He could have just waited at the ship.

Two of them were _kids_ , teenagers a few years younger than he was when he left home. He couldn't let them do it alone. They had the fairy, yeah, but he was about as useful as a pile of leaves when it came down to it. They needed him.

He had to admit, it felt good, too- being needed by someone. Whenever they bested an enemy that would probably have been troublesome for just the two of them, he felt a sense of pride- something he hadn't felt in quite a while.

There was something that troubled him, something he had noticed. It was one thing for Esther to get irritable- that was common- but Oliver? He never seemed to get angry about anything really. At most, he'd tell them to lay off, but that was it. It was like he didn't seem to care about his constant theft.

…Maybe it was because Esther made a point constantly about it. Was it that? Even as they set up camp just outside of the Fairygrounds- _no one_ could sleep comfortably in a fairy-sized bed, not even him- it nagged at him. The only time the kid seemed at all angry with him was directly after his heart was restored to normal. After that, he seemed pretty accepting of his status as a professional thief.

"Alright, I've had it," he finally snapped after throwing a log on the fire. Everyone looked at him with puzzled faces from their tasks. The songstress was setting up a way to heat up their meals over the fire and Oliver was making sleeping arrangements. Drippy seemed to be returning with a few logs of wood.

"Is something wrong," the young mage asked from his side of the glowing pile of wood.

He stood and crossed his arms as he studied the boy. "Come on, cave, Oliver. There's got to be something I've done that's gotten under your skin!"

"What do you mean," the girl returned, rising from her kneeling position. "I mean, you _are_ kind of useless, but aside from your usual shady behavior, you haven't been _that_ obnoxious."

With a warning look, Oliver turned to face Esther. "Don't say things like that, Esther. He's been _very_ helpful. He taught us those tactics on the beach, remember?"

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "After suggesting we take a nap!" She went back to setting up the cooking device, ignoring the pointed glare from the thief.

The wizard shook his head and looked back at the man. "Don't worry about Esther. You're fine. You've helped us a lot." He started to finish laying out Esther's own sleeping arrangements but noticed the thief was still eyeing him suspiciously. "Swaine," he asked out of concern, sitting up again.

"Look, I'm sure you're a pretty good kid, but…" he sighed and sat back down. "You _have_ to be bothered by me somehow." He patted his chest. "I'm a thief. I've been spending most of my life learning how to trick people out of food, money- things they've _needed_." He sighed gruffly. "I understand if you don't trust me. You don't have to act like you do."

"I'm not acting!" He leaned forward. "You've done nothing but help us. You're not trying to trick us or anything." He glanced down at his legs, an unsure frown on his young face. "I mean, why would you? You want to go to Hamelin, too."

"Er… yeah. I do." He threw another log on the fire. "I'm so used to being alone… I'm used to having no one to trust." He pulled his right leg close to his chest and rested an arm on it. "It's just- It's been a while since I've been a part of a group." He bit his bottom lip. "I've been burned before." He crossed his arms and gripped his forearms tightly. "When I lost control, the people I thought I could count on… well, let's just say they weren't who I thought they were." He chuckled wryly and shrugged. "What did I expect? We were all common criminals." He smirked as he admired the flames. "When there's dead weight, it's common for it to be dropped, exiled."

He felt his heart ache and he frowned. It was common, too, for his own family. He wasn't needed- he had very little magic. What use was he if he was just another inventor? When it finally came down to it, it seemed he'd just end up at the same spot he started: alone. When he looked at these three, he counted down the days until he had used up his worth. It wouldn't be long now. Hamelin was just around the corner. Once he did what he needed there, he wondered if they'd still need him. Shadar was still out there, but… did they really need a thief like him- a man with no magic? He had only been so useful thus far because he owed them for helping him- because otherwise, there wasn't anything else he had to offer.

Perhaps it would be best to lie low there and- He jumped when he felt the warmth of someone next to him. He looked to his left and found Oliver sitting there, looking up at him as if he were trying to figure out a puzzle. "You're not dead weight," he finally concluded. "You'll never be dead weight- neither will Esther or Drippy."

"Yeah," the girl agreed loudly. "Even if you're an accident waiting to happen," she muttered under her breath as she stirred a bowl of curry over the fire.

"I heard that," the thief snapped, swiveling his head to face her. He heard the wizard giggle from beside him and returned his attention to him. "What makes you think _I_ won't be? You two have plenty of magic." He took out his gun and held it up. "I've just got this- that's it. It's not nearly enough to defeat Shadar."

The three of them exchanged glances and began to laugh. The fairy was the first to speak. "Ya think just one of us can beat him on our own?! Ta mun!" He hopped up on a log next to the thief. "It's going to take a lot more than plain ol' magic to take Shadar down. Ollie-boy's got potential, but he's going to need a lot of help to get there- as much as he needs!"

"Yes! You're part of the team," the blond reminded him. She motioned to his weapon of trade. "That thing can help when we have to fight! It is a weapon, magic or no." She rolled her eyes then focused on the lanky thief. "Even- and I can't believe I'm saying this- _stealing_ from enemies will help." She placed a bowl of curry to heat over the fire.

"And you were amazing when we fought that giant jellyfish! I bet you have all sorts of other neat tricks you can do with your pistol, too," the boy praised. His smile widened when he saw the thief look away, attempting to conceal a cocky smirk. "See," Oliver cheered. "As long as you're with us, there's plenty you can do!" He reached around the man and embraced him from the side.

He looked down at the boy in wonder. They had accepted him without question, especially this kid. He smiled, letting the warmth and gratitude in his heart breakthrough. "Thank you. All of you," he mumbled.

"Curry's ready," Esther announced, walking up to the two.

Oliver released the thief and leaped to his feet. "Neato! Thanks for cooking, Esther!" With a grin, he sat back down next to their newest member. He dove right in, grabbing the spoon and eagerly taking the first bite. "Hot," he whined, wincing. He took the spoonful out of his mouth and blew on it.

The songstress giggled. "What did you expect? I just finished heating it up!" She continued to offer the thief his share, waiting patiently for him to take the bowl. "Are you going to eat, Swaine," she suggested with a slightly sly look.

He considered it for a moment and cracked a smirk as he loosened up. He reached for the bowl and thanked her for it. As he began to eat with them, as they all sat silently around the campfire, he realized that he hadn't had this kind of experience in a long time- not even with the group of thieves back in Al Mamoon. This connectedness, this sense of community, and the sense that he truly belonged here with these three- even the loudmouth fairy- he hoped would last for a while. He knew they'd go their separate ways one distant day, but for now… this. This was… nice.

**Author's Note:**

> I keep writing Swaine themed stories! I have no restraint! Agh! In any case. I wanted to explore a little bit of Swaine's heartbreak some more and also use some old dusty ideas I had quite a while back. Like Swaine actually being a deckhand on a boat at some point. That'd be cool. His outfit does strike me as a kind a sailor wears.
> 
> Honestly, I actually think my other drabble "Pictures and Promises" is a better version of this one. I just said, "Screw it, let's do it anyway," and wrote this on a whim. It was fun and relaxing!
> 
> I keep getting these ideas from things completely unrelated to Ni no Kuni. I think one of the things that spurred this was watching House MD all day. There was an episode with a homeless man who I hoped was who he said he was… but wasn't… Don't ask how I went from that to Swaine suffering and then adjusting to being in a group. My brain makes odd connections.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this odd drabble! Thoughts?


End file.
